This month’s poem is more like a plea – or a letter to some old friends who have changed so much, over time, they almost seem unrecognizable to me. And while I understand that change is inevitable, I also feel like some things don’t need to change so drastically in an effort to conform. We all have different wants, needs and desires. Not everyone is seeking the same thing. We all like having options. But, these days, options are becoming hard to come by and unique craftsmanship is disappearing quickly. I wrote this poem to capture the attention of three big “friends” I have admired for years, but it seems as though they are forgetting about me – and others like me. It also seems like they’ve lost sight of who THEY are. I have changed the names in this rhyming plea to protect the true identity of those entities I’m referring to, but rest assured, THEY know who they are. And I hope they reconsider the course they’re on when they “Hear My Plea” here today! Thanks to our friend Robbie Rose in Australia for the great pics of the K-200s, which are not available here in the United States… yet.
HEAR MY PLEA
By Trevor Hardwick
Dear, Pete…
So, what’s the big idea?
This is still America,
It isn’t North Korea!
I remember back when you built,
Trucks that looked like trucks.
But honestly, the cookie cutter,
Aero-look just sucks.
I love you, Pete…
But it feels like you don’t care.
Offer something cool again,
So people stop and stare.
Dear, Kenny…
Well, I never thought you would!
But rumor has it, you are giving up,
On building trucks with hoods.
You made a big impression,
With your big ol’ W-9.
And now you’re gonna up and leave,
Your loyal friends behind?
If big hoods meet the chopping block,
And short hoods are our fate.
Then why not offer K-200’s,
Up here, in the States?
Dear, Shaker…
I gave up so long ago.
Used to be, you’d build me something,
I’d be proud to show.
I guess you’ll build me anything,
That’s fleet-white, sleek and cheap.
Years ago, you’d offer something,
I would want to keep.
Hey guys…
I guess you don’t remember me.
You’ll kiss the hides of deeper pockets,
And disregard my plea.
I know I’m not the only one,
You’ve turned your focus from.
But feeding us just plain white bread,
Will make us all go numb.
